BJO
by zzetta13
Summary: A fellow from Mal's past comes to bay him a reunion of sorts. The Captain of Serenity isn't hard to find, neither is he hard to lure into situations of altercation. Captain Reynolds is a man that lives in the present, but will never forget his past, why, because he is haunted by it.
1. Chapter 1

_**BJO**_

"_**The Mule & the Horse"**_

Author's note: _**U-Day, a Mule, a Horse & two men**_…..

These are just clues as to what the following story arc is about, a short writing, maybe 3 chapters or less, Z.

Not sure if you've ever wondered how Serenity acquired the "_**Mule**_", and I don't know if you even care….still, I thought I'd write a little adventure about it, a story that is pure imagination and fiction. I see lots of opportunities left open by Joss (and his staff of writers) for Firefly stories, and Serenity too. This show is my favorite tv series of all time…. And I do realize that Joss is a very busy man, but I'd love to see him devote more effort into raising his babies…just my opinion I guess, Z.

_**The Mule, the Horse, & Big Jim Owen**_

Jim Owen, Big Jim Owen….sat at a table all alone with nary a partner or buddy to share drinking stories with, or reminisce about the past… and there was a good reason for this, and it wasn't because he was unsociable, or that he, thought himself better than anyone else. On the contrary, it was just the opposite. Jim considered himself ugly, and that was something he wasn't alone in thinking….You see, Jim was shunned almost everywhere he went….At the market mothers would hide their young children's eyes from looking at him, on the trail, strangers he met would judge him and mistrust him immediately, and then, there were the _Preachers_, the _Men of God_…when they saw him they assumed that he was being punished for some horrible sin he'd committed in the past.

That last assumption wasn't true of course. No, far from it; still he did have something that put-people-off….something that kept him roaming the universe alone.

Yep, Jim was a loner, and what had folk avoiding him? Well it was non other than his looks. The evidence was there, upon his face. See… Jim had a deep scar, a scar that ran down the right side of his face. Something that was so evident that folk could not even pretend that they didn't notice.

This scar (no small marking mind you), ran deep. It was a crevice that started at the hairline, then moved down his forehead, parting his eyebrow, then began again on his right cheek and came to an end just an inch or two above the jawline.

Even when his right eye was close there was a hint of damage across his eyelid. Whatever had happened to him, it had certainly been traumatic, and had marked him for life.

However, Jim wasn't bitter, he actually wore his deformity with a badge of honor, and also….the event which had led to his disfigurement he would do again willingly, without pause.

Jim Marshal Owen had fought in the _**Battle of Serenity Valley**_, and he was proud for having done so…..He looked around the bar where he was having his private drink, the place was half full. There were some dusty ranchers come in to wet down their thirst, some lonely ladies looking for a warm bed and a beating heart to share comfort with during the night, and folk, some say, were there to celebrate not all things admirable, but to wallow in their illusion of having done the right thing.

Jim knew why they were celebrating; it was that day, that day of days. It was the day the Independence had conceded to the Alliance….it was marked on his calendar…._**U-Day**_, _**Unification Under One Rule**_.

Jim was having a little celebration of his own, not because he was a drunkard or anything… he was more of a social drinker, and he only partook of the bottle on this one, special occasion. He raised his glass (sitting on his table), saluted the gods, and brought the drink to his lips….he drained the contents in one swallow. Again he looked around; no one seemed to be paying him much mind, and he was OK with that.

With his disfigurement most folk avoided his glance (thanking God that they did not have to go through life with such an ailment), for Jim though there was purpose, and he knew, that at any moment someone would come walking through that door, someone that would pay him more than a passing glance, someone that would show him more interest than just a brief pause.

Jim was on edge, on edge to start a fight. He was only waiting for the right individual to show up. That individual had landed the day before, and was soon to be silhouetted in the door frame…..he took another swallow of whiskey.

_**My Favor or Yours….?**_

Malcolm Reynolds reined his horse in at a saloon he oftentimes visited on days like today. He looked down at the vehicle that his steed would be sharing space with just outside the bar doors.

"_Nice piece of machinery…." _he thought, looking over at the land-rover with an appreciative eye, _"Be good to have something like that on Serenity….could haul a lot of freight aboard with a four wheeler like that_."

Mal dismounted his beast and tied its reins to the railing, and then he ventured inside.

Serenity was on furlough, or rather, in-between jobs, and the _**Firefly 03-K64**_ Class vessel had landed on this small moon to accommodate Inara. She had a client here, someone that was willing to pay high dollar for her services.

Mal didn't like making special trips for the Companion; it annoyed him thinking that someone else was in her bed, although the Captain didn't have the nerve or the guts to tell her to stop, he wasn't sure that Inara wouldn't just tell him to f**k-off.

Unknown to him….

The Academy trained Companion would have stopped in a heartbeat…..if she had been given a decent pledge. If HER Captain would have shown her more of a commitment Inara would have quit her career in a _blink_. But men like Mal were hard to follow…. not in a literal sense, but in a mental. Like she had expressed to Shepherd Book that first day he'd come aboard, "_Mal was a mystery, and few men really were_".

However, in truth, Mal possessed scars of his own, and the man was unwilling to share blame for anything that did not work out according to his plan. It was a flaw of his. He was not happy unless he assumed total responsibility, a trait that he shared with no other. If something failed then Mal tended to shoulder the blame himself…..just as he had done with the guilt of losing so many soldiers during the _Battle of Serenity_.

Mal couldn't stomach the idea of losing Inara, not if he were the cause, so his best avenue, his best way to avoid guilt, was to not let her know what was in his heart, that way, he wouldn't risk rejection.

Mal did share a special bond with his crew, and his passengers, but Serenity was his true love (which was a lie, he loved Inara, she just couldn't see through it).

Anyway, here he was, in this bar to drink his sorrows away, for battles lost….. both in love, and in war. Mal entered through the saloon doors and the bar went quiet for a moment. All heads turned to view the new arrival, but only for a moment, they soon returned to the interest of their own doing, that is, except for one.

Mal glance over at a table where one fellow sat all alone, staring at him, and he wasn't of the moment to question why….. the Captain of Serenity then headed for the saloon counter. There was a bottle of whiskey calling his name, and he meant to address it and take it capture.

END CHAP 1


	2. Chapter 2

_**BJO 2**_

"_**The Mule & the Horse"**_

Author's note: Continuing on with the story arc…hope that you find it interesting, Z

Zoe to Mal (The Train Job)"… oddly it seems that every U-Day you find yourself at an Alliance friendly bar…..?"

_**The Mule, the Horse, & Big Jim Owen**_

Malcolm Reynolds stepped up to the serving counter of the saloon that he now found himself in. His intent this day was to drink away his sorrow, and his guilt, and maybe get a little payback. He looked at the two men attending bar and spoke to the nearest one.

"Bartender, how much for a bottle of your best house brew…?"

The man looked up from the chore he was attending…..

"Three hundred copper," the answer came.

Mal's eyes widened a bit…"_Gorramit, rutting prices have gone up since the last time I was in a rutting bar_," the Captain was thinking.

Mal wasn't use to the cost of paying for whiskey. For one thing, he wasn't much of a drinker, and another, at times when he did feel a desire to partake, there was enough stashed away on Serenity (from his illicit transports), to keep him as happy as a Lark (that is, if Jayne hadn't partaken of it all himself), so why pay for it?

This was different though, Mal hadn't come here exclusively to drink, no, he had another purpose in mind. Anyway, he attempted to tone down his surprise at the cost.

"Well then, how much for your second best?"

"Buck seventy-five," the man answered.

Mal pondered the second offer….

"I'll have the second….," he said and then turned away from the counter to get a view of his surroundings.

Mal noticed that the place held many patrons, a mixed bag of sorts, the usual fare, but the loudest and most unruly were a group of six individuals sitting at a table just behind him, men well on their way to causing a ruckus and maybe trouble out on the street. They kept raising their glasses and making boastful toasts to some honored guest, likely gone to his grave after some battle during the war, while Mal tried to ignore them, but it was a trial.

He then looked over at the single individual that had been sitting all alone. The fellow was still there, by himself, and oddly, his eyes seemed to have never left the Captain. Mal just stared back at him a while, his glare just as intent as Mr. Scarface's. Momentarily Mal turned to recover his bottle, and to his surprise there was nothing there.

"Where's my drink?"

The barkeep…(scrubbing a glass with a dirty rag) looked at him and then smiled….

"I forgot to tell you about today's special," he pointed to a handwritten sign above the shelves of whiskey behind him, "anyone friendly to the Alliance can get our best brew for a buck ninety…that's a bargain. It is _**Unification Day**_ as you know."

Mal looked at the man…..

"I'll keep my original buck seventy-five order," he spoke.

_**Friends & Foes and Those Who Don't Know…..**_

Mal retrieved his bottle of second-class whiskey and began to hunt for a drinking spot. It was then that he realized that all the tables in the place were pretty much occupied; there was no room, well, ceptin for around the table of Mr. Scarface.

Mal approached Jim's table, pulled back a chair and sat down. There was no polite request, no question if it were OK, and no permission presented….also, none had been given. It was a _bold move, but Mal liked living on the edge_. He poured himself a shot-glass of whiskey and swallowed it down. Those eyes, those deep blue eyes of the man sitting across from him never left his face…..Mal spoke.

"I've had ideas of moving away from the edge though," the Captain said, just out of the blue.

It was a confusing statement, but the fellow didn't ponder its meaning or question Mal's choosing HIS table to sit at. He only kept staring at Mal, speechless, while taking another dive into his own brew.

"That your hauler out there," Mal questioned?

"It is," the fellow answered, then added, "I call it the "_**mule**_". It gets me around, and I tote whatever I want on it" he paused, "is that your horse?"

The two vessels of transport could clearly be seen outside, through the saloon doors.

"That be the case," Mal spoke, "it gets me around, and I tote wherever I want on it."

The man never grinned, never cracked a smile, never showed any indication that he enjoy Mal's quick and witty response. The two went back to drinking and staring at one another.

"The hauler..._**mule**_," Mal began, "want to sell it?"

Jim pondered this request a moment...

"The _**mule**_ is not for sale," he answered, then his second comment, "but it may be bartered…got something for trade?"

Mal did not reply, only set his glass down on the table and continued to view the fellow intensely. This time the fellow seemed to become uneasy. He put down his glass too.

Mal spoke again….

"I notice there's some trinket on a chain, some tarnished metal emblem hanging down from the handlebars. I'm not familiar with that, mean something to you?"

The man's eyes widened, but never left Malcolm Reynolds…..

"Commendation of Valor, Serenity Valley….and I think that you know exactly what it means," Jim stopped, and then he added…..

"Why is it that you continue to stare at me, my face that interesting?"

Mal pondered his question, he folded his arms across his chest but clearly knew what he was about to say….

"The reason being because you have been staring at me the whole while, and you're ugly…."

It was not like the Captain to disrespecting the less fortunate, but this guy seemed to want the attention, beg for it. Sometimes folk have a desire to cause interest, even if they speak otherwise.

There was movement from the other table….

"I'll agree with that…" came a reply from one of the patrons, of the six old army buddies sitting at the table behind Mal.

"You're ugly and you smell. You smell of the rutting Independence scum I fought those years I was in the Unified Infantry, me and the boys here. I buried many a corpse wearing a browncoat, and I was happy to do so. Oh….excuse me, I didn't bury them, I left their bodies out to swell and bloat in the noonday heat, and let the buzzards pick away at their fresh until it became bone."

Mal then turned to this fellow…..

"Hey friend, I am very well capable of insulting this man myself. If I want your help, I'll ask for it…otherwise mind your own affairs….please."

Mal turned back to view Big Jim. However, there was no denying that his ears were witness to chairs being moved away from their table, and Mal knew that there was trouble afloat. He was partly to blame, well, mostly to blame, and as before, he shared the cause of what may turn into a barroom brawl with no one. It was his fault completely. A smile did cross Big Jim's face at this time.

END PART 2


	3. Chapter 3

_**BJO 3**_

"_**Bloody Serenity"**_

Author's note: Odd isn't it, how the mind can review memories in the blink of an eye. How past events can zip through a person's brain as fast as a light-beam can travel across the void of space.

As Malcolm Reynolds sits at a table (across from the individual Big Jim), he recalls a moments of his past. A time of battle, a time of struggle, and a time he nearly met his end in a ditch, a lonely ditch, a ditch connected to a bloody valley, a valley calling itself Serenity.

Even with six men surrounding their table (the Captain's & Big Jim's) Mal expresses a moment of regression. To say he looks unworried about his predicament is an understatement, he seems calm and relaxed. How so, you might ask, can a man stay exceptionally clam whenever he is staring three men in the face (standing behind his drinking partner), while knowing that there are three more standing behind him, all….ready to beat the crap out of them both?

Well, as Mal sees it, they can do him no more harm than has already been done. He has lived through battle, and through a POW camp. So let the dominoes fall (or the cards play out) the way they must….they can't damage him, or break his spirit more than has been tried….. Wait, I do have a question, do dominoes still exist in the future? Z

"_**Combat"….A Peek at the Past**_

By the end of the day he wouldn't remember much about this battle, this single conflict out of the many conflicts that played during the Independent Army's struggle on Hera.

This was a moment, a time when Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds almost died trying to return his troops to safety.

Sergeant Reynolds found himself in a gully, a ravine, a ditch known as Trench 417. The whole of Serenity Valley had been mapped out with numbers. Going by the names of the gullies and gulches that fingered out from the valley might prove to be confusing or misunderstood during the conflict of battle, so numbers were assigned to each ravine.

Trench 417 was an outpost of a Browncoat stronghold, a stronghold that was about to be overrun. Mal's orders were to retreat, have his troop's fallback to a more defensible position.

Reynolds hated to give up ground to the purplebellies, especially dirt that had been stained in red, ground that had been paid for with blood, but orders were orders, and as such, he had to follow them.

The sergeant traveled from ditch to ditch, bunker to bunker baying his soldiers to return to the ramparts two-hundred yards south. In some bunkers he found his troops already dead (Lord rest their souls), and in others he found some sick, some wounded, and some starving. Mal could tell that these soldiers weren't up for a fight; HQ had made the right call…(as they did occasionally)…and it was at that moment when the first shell hit, and the _shit-hit-the-fan_, so to say.

The beginning blast was distant, but the pain driven cries that followed still echoed in his brain. More injured and more wounded, he thought. He needed to get his troops out pronto…..as quickly as possible. He gave the command to spread the word to fallback. A shell fell closer, and he thanked the Almighty that there were no cries behind it. The Alliance were shelling the _**hell**_ out of his position, a sure precursor to a forthcoming attack….

…. "soften the bastards up, then launch your assault"…..it was first-grade tactics, and to take trench 417 the Alliance didn't have to form high-grade strategies. This could be done with a frontal assault, Mal knew it. The United Infantry had the numbers and ability to post an attack at low cost. They didn't have to have strategic bombs blasting away before they came charging…..carpet shelling was good enough.

Another explosion blasted a ton of dust into the air, this one so closer; it set Mal's ears to ringing. There was only one trench remaining for him to evacuate before he could make a retreat of his own. Mal crawled over and rolled into the hole.

"Time to retreat crew, we'll kick those dogs' asses from another positi….,"

Mal froze in mid-sentence; the three soldiers in that bunker had already been released to meet their maker. It was then that there was a whistling sound and looking up, Mal knew what that meant.

All went dark.

_**A Glimpse of the Other Side…**_

They say that the one that gets you, you never hear…..But how could anyone know that? How could anyone tell the tale if they'd been blown to bits and had not remained around to tell?

Mal had heard the shell that came into his position, and having survived, he could only say that hearing that whistle gave him a split second of horrid pause before all went blank.

When he awoke, his mind was in a haze and his vision unfocused…..the surreal had taken root, and just as they say, for a full minute he looked down at a man that had a sever wound in his right side. The fellow's eyes were open and he seemed to be staring up into the blue heavens, this was all before the sergeant realized that he was looking down upon himself.

Mal thought about the time he seemed to be floating. He looked around and although he was still witness to the bomb blasts going off, and heavy loads of dirt being blown into the air, he could hear no sound. There were soldiers advancing too, troops in dark uniforms crossing the red dirt as quickly as their legs could carry them. Mal knew that they were Alliance, and he knew that he should get up and move…..but there, looking down upon himself, he could not.

Mal figured that death was near, he felt peace, yet it was mixed with a feeling of sorrow. Then there was someone in the trench with him, a fellow soldier, and a recognizable shade of brown, the trooper pulled him up onto his shoulders and lifted Mal out of the trench.

The bombs were still blasting and bullets were flying, but the fellow persevered. Without hesitation he hauled Mal's ass to the safety of the Independent lines. Mal owed that fellow more than anything…..and to this day there was still question about who it was.

Mal Looked over at Big Jim Owen, or Big Sergeant Owen, as he was known during the war.

Jim looked at Mal…

"You ready to do this," he questioned.

Mal gazed at the man whom he had a suspicion had saved his life…

"My middle name is ready," the Captain answered just before taking his final swig of whiskey.

END


	4. Chapter 4

_**BJO 4**_

"_**Exit Front"**_

Author's note: What better way for one to redeem oneself over a battle that was lost than by changing its outcome once a year on _U-Day_.

In their minds, Malcolm and Jim can revisit the events of that horrible time and refight the fight to a different outcome. Posting victory in Serenity Valley, annually, in bars and taverns across the galaxy does nothing to change the actual outcome of the war, but it did make them feel better. Soldiers playing at war again, only…any military true-blood will tell ya that, once a soldier, always a soldier, Semper-Fi and all that.

After five barroom brawls (from past _Unification Days)_, Mal maintains a perfect record, he yet has been defeated the second time around, even when outnumbered, (just as they had been in the actual Battle of Serenity).

What soldier cannot express but pride after staring bullets in the face, or for standing tall in the heat of battle to charge the enemy's front line? Well I'll tell ya, only the survivors, the same true blooded soldiers that lived to regret the loss of their comrades. Mal cannot return the dead to the living, but he can get a little revenge for them…..and so, once a year, among the drinks and sorrow, he does.

_PS: Many thanks to the readers who have posted reviews to this story, LoneWolfOniell, RionaEire (always enjoy your reviews) and TheAmazingDave. Thank you all for the feedback, it makes me smile._

_PSS: Also to LoneWolfOniell, your review on chap 3 had such a great line in it, I just had to incorporate it into this chapter. Hope that you don't mind, Z_

_**Past, Influences Present…**_

Yes, Malcolm Reynolds figured that he owed the man sitting across the table from him a life, no…many lives. He knew that it must be torture having to wonder the galaxy with an ailment which made people avoid you like the plague, and too, he felt guilty over causing the mental anguish that Big Jim must suffer (even though he had been only half conscious when the big man had entered the trench to save him), Mal felt responsible.

Big Jim had risked his own life to return Sergeant Reynolds back to the safety of the Independent lines, and Mal had come away from the retreat with a wound to his right side, a piece of shrapnel thought a cluster of nerves. However, although painful, the wound had not been life threatening.

In that same retreat Jim had been hit with a piece of metal in the face from an exploding bomb. The injury blinding him in the right eye with blood so thick it oozed down his face like maple syrup on a cold Shadow morning. However, Jim did not hesitate or slow down his sprint, he never paused to consider his own wound. He hauled Mal's _shuazuipi _(ass) back to friendly territory, playing little worry to the disfiguring wound he had suffered, the scar of which now was so evident.

This was one of the reasons why Malcolm Reynolds chose to celebrate _Unification Day_ in his own special way, and also, when he got a wave that spoke that his old army buddy was nearby, they got together and celebrated _U-Day_ together. Mal looked over at Jim….

"Surrounded by combatants from the other side again, brings back memories doesn't it?"

Sergeant Owen's smile grew wide across his face….

"This isn't a fair fight, they need more men…." He answered grinning.

Mal put his shot-glass down; he put his hands down to grip the sides of the wooded chair he was sitting in, and he began to rise.

The Captain surmised that, if his opponents were set-up behind him….just as they were behind Jim, then there must be one standing directly to his rear. In one swift move he leaned forward, never releasing the chair, then proceeded to run backwards, like a bull charging headlong into a bullfighter, the legs of the chair acting like its horns. He rushed the man, backwards, and the fellow was stunned beyond reaction. The celebrating buddies were all taken by surprise and caught totally off-guard.

In the same instance Mal could see that Jim had taken ahold of the throat of his whiskey bottle, and had smashed it against the knee of the fellow to his left. The man fell to the floor holding his knee and was cursing the Browncoat army for all it was worth (like Mal and Jim hadn't been cussed by the Alliance before). Big Jim then lifted his chair and smashed it across the head of the fellow standing behind him.

The old Unified soldiers were stunned by the speed in which the brawl had begun, they hadn't prepared for so fast an assault.

Mal continued to drive his opponent backward; he shoved him right through the saloon's doors. The man was hollering and screaming but Mal never gave him a backward glance, the Captain was more focus on the two he'd left next to the table. In an instant Mal had pushed the man outside and had crushed him against Jim's mule. The chair splintering into kindling as the fellow went down-for-the count.

By now the remaining of the celebrating-party was down to three, three standing individuals. As Mal returned to the saloon he saw the Jim had one remaining on his side of the table, while he had two. The Captain began to advance towards the individuals in front of him…..

"THREE TO TWO, GORRAMIT JIM, THIS STILL ISN'T A FAIR FIGHT….THEY NEED RIENFORCMENTS,"…Mal shouted!

Sergeant Owen chanced a sideways glance…..

"Outnumbered still, isn't that the way it always is?" He spoke, still grinning at Malcolm Reynolds.

Jim's opponent rushed him, and the old "Sergeant" delivered a hammer-fisted punch to the fellow's mouth that was sure to have loosened a few teeth. The guy hit the floor face first. Owen stood looking down at the guy as he lay motionless on the saloon floor.

"Sorry for ruining your celebration day, you might find it a little less enjoyable finishing your drink," Jim then turned toward the two remaining guys on Mal's side of the table.

"Looks like we're even now," he said, "at least numerically."

Just then the fellow to the right, the one who'd hung back a little from the brawl, turned and bolted out the door. This left only the old Alliance soldier whom had made the original comment agreeing with Mal that Jim was ugly.

"So I'm ugly you say….," Jim began, he turned to look at Mal, "Well friend, do you mind if I deal with this one alone?"

"It's your party, I'm only a guest," Mal answered.

Jim was a big guy, he towered over Malcolm several inches, also, if Jayne woulda been there, Jim would have presented a larger man than the big mercenary himself. Jim's opponent, although a scrappy man, stood frozen, his eyes glaring at the giant. Jim advanced two steps towards the fellow and the man hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, he had fainted.

Owen looked over at Malcolm and the two began to laugh.

_**The Exit…**_

Malcolm Reynolds paid the saloon owner for the damage incurred…..a broken chair and glass from a broken whiskey bottle, then he and Jim made their exit.

Mal and Big Jim Owen stood there, outside the bar next to their transports. Jim looked over at his drinking buddy.

"You know, there are few folk I leave standing after they call me ugly," Jim spoke, "you're an exception, I take it more as a term of endearment, like "sweetie" or "honey"…."

Mal looked at him…

"Well _honey_ I appreciate that, and yes _sweetie_ that was an enjoyable time, but please don't kiss me," Mal voiced with a smile.

Jim knew that he was joking. Mal turned to mount his beast.

"Hey hold on! I thought we were gonna make a trade," Jim question?

Mal turned to him…..

"We never reached a barter, what would I have in exchange for the _**mule**_?"

Jim looked at the animal Mal was about to mount.

"That seems like a fine beast, what say we swap for him?"

Mal handed him the reins, then took his position atop the _**mule**_. Jim swung himself into the saddle and each prepared to make their exit. Both were terrible at good-byes, so there were none spoken.

"Next year, same time same place?"

"If I'm in the neighborhood," Mal replied.

They turn to head out of town in opposite directions, but then Jim stopped….

"Mal, what's the beast's name," he queried.

Malcolm Reynolds pondered a moment, and then he spoke to Big Jim as if what he was saying was full truth.

"I call him BJO….." Mal spoke, "Big Jim Owen."

Jim tilted his head back; he belted out a heavy laugh to the heavens. He then spurred his mount and headed off into the late noonday sun.

END

Hope readers enjoyed this short story work. Future Firefly arcs may have a return of Big Jim, who know? My thanks for your reading, :) Z


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